Mr. Bennet gave his eldest daughters a conspiratorial nod. “Indeed. Our Sophocles may yet prove the household’s best judge of character. You should take him with you when visiting the Meryton regiment next time, Mrs. Bennet.”
“Well. Until the next invitation arrives, I suppose,” Elizabeth said, eyes sparkling.
Her father sighed dramatically. “Heaven help us.”
At that, even Mrs. Bennet’s mouth twitched with unwilling amusement, and for one fragile moment the room fell into a warm, shared laugh that even the cold November morning could not quite chill.
Just as the laughter was dying down and Mrs. Bennet began fussing with her shawl to recover her composure, Mrs. Hill appeared in the doorway, bobbing a quick curtsey.
“Beg pardon, sir, madam—the post has come.” She held out the morning post neatly folded, and three sealed letters stacked upon it.
Mr. Bennet sat forward with polite, if slightly exaggerated, interest. “Ah. Civilization intrudes.” He accepted the bundle with mock solemnity, balancing the paper in one hand while examining each envelope in turn with slow scrutiny.
Her duty done, Mrs. Hill withdrew discreetly.
Elizabeth watched her father’s performance with wry patience and a spark of curiosity she tried not to show.
“Those are probably only bills. Are they?” Mrs. Bennet demanded sharply, peering as if her eyesight alone might reveal the contents.
“Alas, my dear, not this one.” Mr. Bennet held up the first letter. “A request from Phillips, no doubt wanting me to sign something dull.” He set it aside.
The second he examined more carefully. “Jane, this one bears a London hand. Aunt Gardiner. It is for you.” He passed it with a small nod of ceremony.
Jane accepted it with a soft blush. “Thank you, Papa.”
And then there was the third.
He paused deliberately, tilting it, studying the address. Then he looked straight at Elizabeth, one brow arching with unmistakable significance.
“Ah. This hand I know rather well,” he drawled. “It can mean only one thing. Mr. Darcy writes again to our Lizzy.”
Elizabeth’s heart gave the now-familiar flutter—equal parts dread and eager hope. She tried to keep her face calm as she held out her hand.
“Papa...”
But he merely tapped the letter on his palm in mock thoughtfulness. “Shall I read it aloud for you, Lizzy? It might save you some blushes later.”
“Papa!” she hissed, scandalised, though a nervous laugh escaped.
Jane hid a smile behind her letter. Lydia and Kitty craned forward, whispering and giggling.
“Really, Mr. Bennet,” Mrs. Bennet snapped, waving her handkerchief. “Do not tease her so. Give it over at once. It is highly improper to keep a young lady’s letter from her correspondent!”
“Correspondent, is it?” Mr. Bennet mused. “Not suitor yet, madam. Let us not get ahead of ourselves.”
Elizabeth coloured hotly.
But Mr. Bennet relented with a chuckle and set the letter gently before her. “There you are, my dear. Treasure it as you will.”
She took it, fingers tightening on the table edge to steady herself.
“Thank you, Papa,” she said quietly.
Mr. Bennet sighed and shook out his letter instead. “Don’t thank me too quickly. I look forward to watching you read it as if pronouncing sentence on a poor man’s life. Try not to look so grim.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together to hide her smile. Her fingers trembled on the seal.
Jane reached across and laid a gentle hand on her wrist. “Tell me later if it is...kind.”
